


Dragon Age Microfic Collection

by pikestaff



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical Circle Abuses, Ficlet Collection, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Meta, Microfic, Multi, One-Shots, Self-Harm, prompt fills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 6,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikestaff/pseuds/pikestaff
Summary: A bunch of assorted microfic and drabbles scraped off of my old tumblr for safekeeping.  I'm pretty much done with the DA fandom so this is my parting gift to it, I suppose.  Mostly Anders/Handers related but there might be other stuff too.  Some of it is less character focused and more meta focused.  Some of it is prompt fills.  Some if it was recycled into my longfic,Renegades.  It's like a box of chocolates!  Nothing explicit.





	1. Chapter 1

“If we live through this… you know I’ll be the most hated man in Thedas,” Anders says into Hawke’s ear.

“Not possible,” Hawke replies without missing a beat. “Because I love you enough to make up for it.”


	2. Chapter 2

You’re a Circle Mage. It’s a lonely existence, to be sure, and you miss your family, but you’ve made a few friends including one best friend who you share everything with.

One day they go to their Harrowing. They never come back.

You go through your Harrowing soon after, and you survive, but you learn what it is and what it means if you don’t come back from it.

And from then on, every time you see a templar in the halls, you wonder if that was the one.

The one who put a sword through the heart of your best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Never in a million years did Anders think he could find someone who matched him in belief and sheer fire of spirit. That’s why he had convinced himself that he would be alone. No one else could keep up with him, and frankly, that was fine. He had a job to do, after all. He had a mission, and it wouldn’t be fair to anyone else to try to keep up with him.

No, never in a million years did he expect anyone to be anything like him.

And then…

Then…

…he met Hawke.

Hawke, whose soul burned with a familiar flame and whose beliefs ran right along side his own.

Hawke, who not only could keep up with him but actually wanted to.

Hawke, this person who matched him thought for thought and word for word.

And never in a million years was Anders happier to have been proven wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

Justice remembered lyrium song and time that was frozen and spirits that stood for everything right and good. He gave these memories to Anders when they became one, and so it was that Anders, deep in his subconscious, longed for all of these things that he had now almost, but not quite, experienced.

And Anders didn’t realize how much he missed these things– or even that there was anything to miss– until one night years later, lying in Hawke’s arms, when Hawke mumbled his name into his hair and he realized, suddenly, that Hawke’s voice was lyrium song, and that time was frozen when they were together, and that when Hawke fought it was for everything right and good.

Hawke, it seemed, filled a longing he didn’t know he had. With Hawke, there was nothing left to miss.


	5. Chapter 5

Justice is righteous, Justice is hard, Justice is beautiful and necessary and a brilliant, bright blue flame that Hawke loves, because Hawke knows that Justice is not and has never been a bad concept.

Justice, Hawke knows, is inherently Good.


	6. The Cause of Mages

Anders was up pacing when Hawke found him. He couldn’t sleep, and his mind was filled with his and Justice’s combined thoughts– was everything ready? Would everything go as planned?– and he hadn’t noticed he was no longer alone until Hawke spoke. “Is everything alright, love?”

Anders’ breathing was shallow from stress. “Things are getting bad,” he said, without looking behind him.

“I know,” said Hawke.

“I’m… sorry that I can’t be what you deserve,” Anders said. “But I am no longer just a man. I am the cause of mages.”

“We are the cause of mages,” Hawke replied firmly.

Anders blinked at that, and before he could look back at his partner, Hawke was up against him, holding him tightly.

“We are the cause of mages,” Hawke continued. “Together. You’re not alone, love.”

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Anders felt Justice approve. _We’re not alone._ And for the first time, Anders let himself believe it.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke always said Anders’ name with some amount of reverence. His name, after all, was a synonym for that virtue that is justice.


	8. Chapter 8

So. Warden Amell’s four lost siblings.

One committed suicide, perhaps, as so many do, distraught and trapped and feeling no way out.

One failed their Harrowing and was killed by a templar sword to the chest.

One was made Tranquil, maybe, deemed by their Circle to not be strong enough to resist temptation.

And then the last… perhaps they survived, and when they introduce themselves to someone as Amell one day the other person says “Amell? You mean, like the Hero of Ferelden?” And they pause, because they don’t remember having a family beyond the haziest of old, dusty memories, but for just a moment they let themselves think, “Maybe.”


	9. Chapter 9

Anders doesn’t really remember how he found out that Hawke had been taken to the Gallows. And, ultimately, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is the purpose flowing through his veins like liquid lyrium– justice, justice will be meted out to whoever is responsible for this.

The Gallows sings, because lyrium abounds in various forms, and it’s a cruel irony that the song is sweet, much like it’s a cruel irony that the call of the Archdemon is sweet. But it makes his mouth bitter, or perhaps that’s from the blood between his lips because Anders is a lightning storm, fierce and relentless, that has already killed half a dozen people in the last handful of seconds. He spits that blood onto the floor and it’s dark, dark like the Taint, dark like shadows behind the twisted spires of the Fade. But Anders is all fire and light and fury, and magic frames him like wings, and he will find Hawke, he will, and to see him then is to know that he will not, cannot be stopped.

Because justice, like every virtue and every vice, is unceasing.


	10. Chapter 10

The world sees Anders and Hawke as monsters. So they give the world monsters, because that’s what it expects. And sometimes - all too often - you need a monster to get the job done.

But then when things are soft and quiet, Hawke and Anders give each other that secret, tender part of themselves that the world doesn’t see - the humanity that no one but the other sees in them.


	11. Chapter 11

Hawke, it often seemed to Anders, was a contradiction. She was all blood and talons and sharp falcon eyes and yet, against all his expectations, she had chosen to make her aerie at his side.

She killed for him and his cause– their cause, he reminded himself– and she was happy to do it, but then when they were alone and she returned to him she was all gentleness and love and soft vulnerability.

Perhaps, he thought one night, she wasn’t a contradiction at all.

Perhaps she was the bird of prey he knew she was, and he the person she had chosen to be her falconer.


	12. Trembling Hands

After the Kirkwall Rebellion, Hawke and Anders developed a _reputation._

They were fearsome bulwarks– Anders a human electric storm with blue sparks in his eyes and Hawke fire made flesh, an eagle, a thunderbird; and anyone who crossed them would swiftly regret doing so.

They had allies, though. Allies who would harbor them for a night or two in various muddy towns across Ferelden. Hawke and Anders were almost always cloaked when they arrived, to be safe.

But sometimes– just sometimes– when they were out in the town and no one was looking but a small child or an old woman, Hawke would gently tug down Anders’ hood and run her fingers through his golden hair with hands that almost trembled in their gentleness, and he would smile at her, crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and in that moment anyone watching would feel content knowing that the rebellion was in just hands, yes, but it was also in soft hands.


	13. Alone, Finally + Nap

“You didn’t sleep very well last night, did you?” That was Hawke and she said it teasingly; they were a little way out of the village, in a forest clearing.

“Now what would make you say that?” Anders yawned.

Hawke leaned forward and poked his nose with a finger. “I told you not to stay up all night writing letters.”

“Well. They were important letters! And I wasn’t going to get them done any other time. What with all the meetings and… whatever that other thing we did today was.” Anders yawned again.

Hawke chuckled. As odd as it seemed, it was nice to be on the move again. They had spent most of the last two days meeting with other rebels and agitators, and finally she and Anders were alone and they could truly relax. In fact…

Hawke plopped herself down in front of a tree. Anders looked down at her oddly, his head tilted a bit. “Love?”

“Naptime,” said Hawke.

“Naptime?” Anders was confused.

Hawke reached up and took his hand and pulled him down next to her. “Naptime,” she repeated.

“Mmm. I won’t complain.” Anders leaned into Hawke’s chest, and she pulled him close to her heart and put her nose in his hair, and then they slept.


	14. Don't Leave

Hawke wasn’t quite sure if she was holding Anders or if he was holding her; all she really knew was that they were very much tangled together there in bed and it was warm and comfortable and he smelled like the lightly scented soap they’d used in the bath the night before. Hawke wondered, idly, how close to morning it was, and then decided she didn’t care and pressed herself closer into Anders’ chest.

Unfortunately, it was closer to morning than she thought. Moments later Anders stirred and then began to untangle himself from Hawke’s grasp. Hawke made a little growl of displeasure and pulled him close to her again.

“Mm.” Anders acquiesced and let her hold him. He pushed his nose into her shoulder. “Marian?”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve got someone who’s supposed to be by my clinic this morning.”

“They can wait.” Hawke’s voice was muffled because she said it into Anders’ chest.

Anders chuckled into her. “You can’t share me?”

“No. Well. In five more minutes, I can.” Her voice was still muffled.

So Anders kissed the top of her head. “If you promise you’ll let me go in five minutes.”

“I… would prefer not to make promises I can’t keep,” said Hawke.

Anders smiled.


	15. Falling

Sometimes, Hawke could feel herself falling.

It seemed to strike at random. She would be doing fine one day– well, as fine as she could ever be, anyway– and then the next she would wake up filled with a sort of dark, creeping self-loathing that she couldn’t quite chase away.

She hated herself because she always had hated herself for being a mage, since that’s what society told her– and she hated herself for even feeling that way to begin with. Then she hated herself for falling into this pit of self-flagellation yet again.

When she hated herself like this, she got angry, and she preferred to take her anger out on templars or other people who deserved it. But it was quiet that day, and Anders was busy, and Hawke sulked around the estate and finally ended up lying in bed, summoning tiny little fireballs with her fingers and making a fist around them. It hurt, a bit. But that felt good, somehow.

Then Anders came back home, and Hawke didn’t really want to look at him, because she was embarrassed. But he saw the state that she was in and sat down next to her. “Hey love,” he said.

Hawke grunted something. She didn’t look at him.

Anders understood, because he always did, somehow, although Hawke didn’t like the fact that he did. It meant that he hurt inside too, sometimes, and he didn’t deserve to. He was too good, too perfect. Hawke made another little fireball and then grabbed it with one swipe, extinguishing it in her palm, feeling the pinching, quick burn, but this time Anders reached out and took her hand in his and worked warm healing magic through hers. It was comforting, and she couldn’t be upset.

“Marian,” Anders chided, although it was gentle.

Hawke grunted again. Why was it so difficult to form words? “I’m fine,” she mumbled eventually.

“Mmm.” The noise was a neutral one, and Anders leaned over so he was laying on his side next to Hawke, and he pulled her close. He pressed his lips against her forehead. “You know,” he said, “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now. But you deserve to be loved.”

Hawke didn’t think so, but she pushed herself into Anders anyway, because he was soft and warm. Anders kissed her forehead, and Hawke let him be her anchor.


	16. Pet

“Did you ever have dogs growing up?” Hawke asked. “Before you were in the Circle, I mean.” They were lounging on the bed, and their dog was curled up at their feet.

“I lived on a farm,” said Anders. “Of course we did. We also had chickens and a cow.”

“And cats?” Hawke put her chin on his shoulder.

Anders turned his head and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Lots of barn cats. I hand-raised a litter of kittens, once. The mother rejected them, for some reason. My father told me that was just how things went, sometimes, but I refused to just leave them be. I kept them in a box in my room and fed them milk from a sponge every few hours.”

Hawke had known Anders for years at this point and still decided that this was, easily, the most adorable thing she had ever heard. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. How one man could be so precious, she had no idea. “And did they all survive?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” said Anders. “All five of them. Do you know what I named the smallest one?”

“What?” Hawke still had her arms around him and her chin on his shoulder.

“Dumat.”

“You… did not,” said Hawke.

“I did too,” said Anders. “I thought it was hilarious. I didn’t tell my parents, mind you. I think they would’ve assumed that would bring the Maker’s wrath down upon all of us.”

Hawke smiled and kissed him. Maker, how she loved him. “So, what happened to Dumat the Tiny Cat?”

“Well, he grew to be a healthy tomcat,” said Anders, leaning back against the headboard. “He still was one, when they took me to the Circle. But that was a long time ago. I think about him, sometimes. I hope he had a good life.”

“He did,” said Hawke firmly. “Because of you.”

Anders smiled.


	17. Sunbathing

When Anders opened the window to let the sun in that day, Hawke was surprised. Generally Anders tended to be more reclusive; although his status was secure via his association with the Champion of Kirkwall, he was still prone to paranoia– and Hawke couldn’t blame him for that, really. But on this particular day he leaned over the open windowstill, eyes closed, golden sunlight on his golden features.

Hawke approached and grinned. “Nice weather?”

“You have no idea,” Anders murmured. Then he opened his eyes and turned to Hawke. “In the Circle, most of the windows were far, far above ground, by the ceiling. There were a few that were lower– heavily barred, of course. Feeling the wind or rain or having sunshine on your face was a luxury.”

Hawke put a hand on his back. It was easy, sometimes, to forget that all these things that were every day occurrences for her were still so special to Anders. She thought, suddenly, of all the things they could do someday. In the future, perhaps, when the mages were all freed and they could go anywhere they wanted. She imagined taking him to a nice meadow, somewhere, with no one else around, having a picnic and enjoying each other. Yes. Yes, that was definitely a goal for the future.

But for now she stood beside him, her hand on his back, and together they enjoyed the simple pleasures of sunlight through a window.


	18. Chapter 18

Someone once asked Hawke, “Are you in love with justice the concept or Justice the spirit?”

And Hawke said, “There is no difference.”


	19. Quiet

Sometimes, when Anders was in the Circle, he would dream about a day when there would be no reason to be scared. It first started when he was a child, soon after the templars dragged him back after his first escape attempt. He’d run to his room after being chided by the First Enchanter, and hid under the covers of his bed and wondered if this was his new life now.

No, no, he wouldn’t let it be.

Someday he was going to get out. Someday he wouldn’t be scared anymore.

He carried that thought with him for years. After he was kicked in the head. After he was flogged. When he was in solitary confinement. And every time he was scared to do something, anything, the littlest thing, because he saw them in his head.

There would be a day, he thought, when they couldn’t get him. When he wouldn’t be afraid.

When it came, it was quiet. And it was dark. And he was in someone’s arms– Hawke’s arms, his face pressed into her chest while she had her hand up behind his head, her fingers thoroughly entwined with his golden hair. She was grasping his hair tightly, so tightly that it almost hurt, but that was welcome, because that’s how he knew he was hers.

And that’s when it came to him. He hadn’t been expecting it, no, because of course he hadn’t. Why think about templars when there were no templars coming? Why think about a threat when there wasn’t a threat?

But some thought kept prodding him, telling him that something was missing as he rested there in Hawke’s arms, and that’s what it was. The threat. The dark figures looming, always looming in his mind simply weren’t there anymore.

He tried to conjure up an image of them to see if that would scare him. A risky maneuver, for sure, because that could chase the moment away. But nothing happened. He could see them in his mind, sort of, but they didn’t scare him. They were abstract. They were a dream. They weren’t real.

Hawke was real. Hawke’s chest was real as he pressed himself into it, her fingers were real as she clutched his hair, her breath was real on the top of his head. Her heartbeat was real. She was real and solid under his touch, and he knew she would protect her from anything and everything. In that moment, it was quiet, and it was dark, and, finally, he was safe.


	20. Unbind Me

“I won’t let them take you again,” Hawke murmured into Anders’ wrists as she undid the rough cords that bound him. There was blood on her lips and on her neck and on her hands– blood from the many templars she had ravaged to get to him.

“Mmm, I don’t know,” said Anders, and he smiled weakly. “Assuming it’ll end up like this? Rescued by a gorgeous, deadly bird of prey? I think I could go for being taken again. And again, and again, and–”

Hawke laughed and kissed him. “Be careful what you wish for,” she said. Then she whispered in his ear, “Although I’d prefer we do it in a… more familiar setting.”

“Well! I don’t think I’ll say no to that.” Anders was still smiling, and he and Hawke kissed there among the blood and the wreckage.


	21. Call Me

The worst thing that could ever happen to Hawke, she thought, would be losing Anders.

But the second worst thing would be losing Carver, and when he fell after they finished fighting the demon she nearly leaped atop him.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed in his face. “Don’t you fucking dare leave me.”

Carver grunted. He was clearly in pain, but, at least, didn’t seem to be dying. “Touching. A true loving sister, you are.”

Anders knelt down next to them. “How’s it looking?”

“Ugh. It did something to my leg, I think. I’ll be fine once you patch me up, I’m sure.” Carver took a breath and then smiled weakly at Hawke. “Fortunately, I’ve got the sweetest big sister to…”

“If you die, I’ll kill you,” said Hawke. But she smiled too.


	22. Break Me

It was cold in the dungeons in midwinter.

There was no fire or magic for warmth, except over by where the templars stood guard, and Solona Amell huddled in a corner in her cell, her breath frosty and her robes providing scant protection. That she’d been allowed to keep robes at all was a bit of a miracle, really.

She was in the dungeon for rather viciously telling off a templar who had looked at Neria Surana the wrong way. Her punishment was to be down here for a week. She was only on day one and the six remaining days stretched in front of her like the longest, coldest, loneliest road.

But she wrapped her arms around herself tighter and thought about how the templars’ heads would all look when she was done crushing them, because it was that thought– interspersed with thoughts of Neria’s arms around her, instead of her own– that would get her through the week.


	23. Break Me II: Quiet Me

“You know you didn’t have to do that,” Neria murmured, although she and Solona both knew that, well… she did. She had one arm around Solona and had one hand up on her head, gently running her fingers through her hair.

“And you know I did,” Solona said in a quiet voice. Her face was up against Neria’s chest and her arms were around her waist.

“I know,” said Neria.

“And I’m going to kill him,” said Solona. “For doing what he did. Don’t think I won’t.”

“You might,” Neria mused. “But right now I don’t want you to think about that.” She said that because she could feel Solona stiffening in her arms.

“Mmm…” Solona didn’t seem convinced.

“Think about me, instead,” said Neria.

“…alright,” Solona said. She tilted her head up and they kissed.


	24. FIGHT ME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was prompted by against-stars @ tumblr who asked for a silly story featuring my Marian Hawke, her OC Cosette Amell, and Anders. Cosette belongs to against-stars.tumblr.com

“You do know that Anders was mine first, yes?” said Cosette.

Hawke was busy making sure the templar that they had both been collectively fighting was truly burnt to a crisp, and once she was satisfied that he was well and truly dead, she turned to face her second cousin. “And you’re bringing this up now… why?”

“Oh, you know,” Cosette said innocently. “It seemed like a good time. Then again, it’s always a good time for my opinion.”

Hawke shrugged. “I mean, doesn’t matter who got to him first, he’s my husband.”

Anders caught up to them now and looked over at Hawke, and then down at the dead templar and then back up at Hawke. “Wait, we’re married now?”

“As good as,” said Hawke.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about this, Anders dear, it doesn’t involve you,” said Cosette.

“I…” Anders was at an utter loss for words.

Hawke walked over to him and wrapped herself around him, kissing him and making a great show of lavishing him with gentle affection, before pulling away and, taking him by the hand, continuing further into the building. Cosette rolled her eyes and followed.


	25. First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unofficial mini-sequel to my fic [To Hold The Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375794).

“Could I ask you something?“ Velanna asked. “It… might seem a bit strange.”

“Of course,” said Neria. She and Velanna were relaxing outside Vigil’s Keep, as they had recently begun to do almost every day. Currently they were taking a walk in a nearby forest. Velanna always felt more relaxed among the trees, and that rubbed off on Neria. It was tough, being the Warden-Commander, but at least here things were calmer and she could center herself. She felt more in touch with who she was– an elf, with ties to the forest, and a mage, with ties to natural phenomena.

Velanna stopped walking and looked over at her directly. “Could I kiss you?”

Neria stopped too. “I… have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that question, exactly,” she said. But she smiled, afterward.

“I know it’s odd to ask like this,” said Velanna. “I’m not stupid. But I’ve never been with someone like this before. By choice, I might add. Magic and my sister were always more important than anything– or anyone– else. But I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. Truly. And I don’t want to ruin anything we have by doing anything you wouldn’t appreciate.”

Neria had been feeling similarly towards Velanna, although she hadn’t wanted to bring it up. She was Warden-Commander; she didn’t know if she should be finding love like this. That was part of the reason she had chosen to remain alone during the Blight, as well. The _other_ reason, of course, was that she figured no one in their right mind would be interested in an elf mage, and she was too self-conscious to try to test that. But… Velanna was an elf mage, too. And Velanna enjoyed spending time with her. And…

“Alright,” said Neria. She took a step closer. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

“No,” said Velanna. “Have you?”

“A few times,” Neria replied. “At the Circle. It was never serious… it was always just for fun.”

Velanna nodded and the two of them positioned themselves a bit closer. “Do you close your eyes?” Velanna asked suddenly.

“You can if you want,” said Neria. “You don’t have to.”

“Hmm,” said Velanna thoughtfully. She closed her eyes then, tentatively, and she and Neria pressed their faces close together and kissed softly. Velanna pulled away and snapped her eyes back open. “Like that?”

“Yes.” Neria was smiling. “Did you like it?”

“Is it supposed to be wet?“ Velanna asked.

Neria chuckled. “You know, I thought that too, the first time I kissed anyone. I hadn’t been expecting that.”

“Neither was I,” said Velanna. “But… yes. I liked it.”

“And now we can do it whenever we want,” Neria said with a mischevious grin. “Well. If you’d like to.”

And Velanna smiled too. “I think I would.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an excerpt from the sequel I was writing to [Renegades](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664499/chapters/21832436) which might not ever be finished, so here's a taste of What Could Have Been.

The seer looked over at them; her dark eyes gleaming. “So,” she said. “This is the face of the resistance.”

Hawke was alert for any sort of trap, hand on her staff, but all seemed to be still and quiet. They were alone.

“I know who you are,” the woman continued before Hawke could say anything. “I know all about you, Marian Hawke.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes at that. No one was allowed to call her by her first name except Anders. No one was even supposed to know her first name, except Anders. Well, and Carver, but he knew full well never to ever bring it up. Oh, Varric and the others had almost certainly picked it up sometime along the years via osmosis, but most of them were half a continent away. “Who are you?” she asked.

“I am the future you want to see,” said the seer, and she peered at them. “Freedom for mages. That is what you want to see, is it not?”

“Can you help us make it happen?” Anders asked. His voice was soft and compassionate and he was, as always, freedom and justice incarnate and Hawke fell in love all over again every time he spoke. It took every ounce of her willpower not to reach out and take his hand in hers, and she might have, but until she knew more about who they were talking to she did not want to show any signs of weakness.

“If you are looking for armies or resources, I cannot provide you with those,” said the woman. “But if you are looking for guidance—”

“Any information at all would be useful,” Anders cut in. Hawke didn’t blame him for being restless. He was part spirit, a soul on fire, and fire dies when it doesn’t have leads to burn.

And the seer nodded at them. “Listen, then,” she said. “And I will provide you with information.”


	27. Pride

The last emotion Karl often felt, before anything big happened, was fear. He’d grown accustomed to it, even.

It was the last thing he felt as a child before he was dragged away to the Circle tower.

It was the last thing he felt before the First Enchanter drew blood from his hand and made a phylactery.

It was the last thing he felt every time a templar marched down the hall with iron steps. They never came for him, no, but it was reflex at that point.

Fear was the last thing he felt before he went into his Harrowing, and the last thing he felt when Anders went into his a few months after.

It was the last thing he felt before he was transferred from Kinloch Hold to the infamous Gallows of Kirkwall.

The letters from Anders stopped coming some time after that, for one whole year, and so fear was the last thing he felt before finally getting a letter from him explaining that he’d spent the last year alone in the dungeon.

Ser Alrik came upon him some months later. The evil bastard produced the brand and gloated about about how he was going to use Karl as live bait, and as he was restrained the last emotion he felt before all his emotions went dark was fear, fear for that beautiful, fiery man he loved so much, because he knew that Anders would come for him no matter what and he had no way to warn him and–

–and that was the last thing he felt.

***

Until suddenly Anders was lit up in front of him, pulsing with a glowing blue light and all the power of the Fade, and all of Karl’s feelings rushed back to him all at once. Confusion and panic and powerlessness and… and fear.

But Anders wouldn’t give up.

Because Anders killed every templar who was there. Anders, who was every inch a storm, a fighter, a renegade, and who had apparently made new acquaintances that were willing to help him and fight for him.

None of the feelings would last, and Karl knew it. He begged Anders to end it for him out of mercy. And Anders, oh, Anders looked at him with such love in his eyes and Karl saw it and knew then that a man who could love that much, who could care that much, would never, ever allow himself to be subdued by evil.

Anders, and everyone under his protection, would be alright.

And the last emotion Karl felt, looking into Anders’ eyes then, was pride.


	28. I don’t know I just felt like writing about Hawke killing people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no offense but this is one of the best Marian Hawke things I ever wrote lmao

When they first brought the woman to their base, the young Rivaini man was nervous.

He might not have been the oldest or most experienced person there, but he knew enough to know that this woman was toying with them. He saw the way she moved, easily, almost nonchalantly. She could escape whenever she wanted to. She had let them capture her.

They shoved her down in a chair and he looked her up and down. Most of her face, except for her mouth and chin, was obscured by a hood. She wore bizarre, pointed armor complete with a fur lining that was sticky with mud and ichor and sharp, curved talons on the right gauntlet. Her left arm and hand were bare, and her nails were short and chipped and there was dirt and dried blood underneath.

The leader of the Rivani man’s gang approached and nodded at her. “They say,” he said, “That you love the most hated man in Thedas.”

“They say that, but they would be wrong,” said the woman, and her statement was so straightforward that everyone there was caught off guard. Had they taken the wrong person? But then she continued, “I love him enough to make up for any hate the world has towards him. And then twice over again.”

The leader laughed at that. “Silly little bird,” he said. “Little Fereldan bird,” he added, because the woman’s accent was very unmistakably from that southern land.

“Careful,” someone else said, with a voice that was only half-joking. “I hear Fereldans are savage and bite like their dogs.”

The Rivaini man said nothing, but squinted at the woman in the chair. Judging by her body language, she was still utterly at peace. The bare fingers of her left hand were tapping her knee, just a bit, as if out of boredom.

The leader unsheathed his sword, and his other men followed suit. “You, my little Fereldan bird,” he said, “Will tell me where this man is.”

“And if I don’t?” There was no fear in her voice whatsoever.

“Then,” said the crew leader, “You die. You may fight like a dog, but even you have no chance against ten of us. So. You will cooperate.”

The woman smirked, and she leaned forward in the chair, her arms over her knees. “There is probably something you should know about me,” she said. Then she tilted her hood just enough to reveal icy blue eyes, and blood across her face. “I’m a mage.”

Everything after that happened in seconds and the Rivaini man couldn’t even begin to follow what was happening. He just knew that the woman was standing, hands palm up and glowing with power, and then their leader was dead on the ground, frozen solid, the part of him that used to be one of his arms shattered into a dozen pieces. Before the others could react, they, too, were dead. One of them by an electric bolt so bright that everything flashed white for a split second, several others by a firestorm that swept across the room and then extinguished itself as quickly as it had come. One man screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his head, eyes wide with terror before he expired completely, and the Rivaini man didn’t know what had happened to him but he started to run–

–and then the woman was atop him before he could even finish turning around. He fell to the ground and landed on his back with a heavy thud and the mage atop him. Her hood had fallen off in the melee. She was wild-eyed and had short, stiff black hair that stuck up a million ways, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was almost grinning. “You,” she said, “Are going to tell me why you want him.” She had her claws around his neck.

The man gasped. “Bounty,” he said. “He’s worth enough gold to feed us all a year.”

“Bounty? Given by whom?”

“Some rogue templar group. I don’t know what they’re called. I swear.”

The woman let out a sort of snorting laugh. She was utterly mad, the Rivaini man thought, but clearly that was no deterrence to her. After all, he and his cronies had not exactly been the winners in this scenario.

She ran a metal claw along his throat. “Thank you for the information. Tell your friends that if they try to touch me or the man they’re after, I will kill every last one of them.”

The Rivaini man could tell that she was absolutely serious, and he nodded as best as he could underneath her grasp. Then the woman stood up and the man scrambled away. Hopefully, he would never see her again.


	29. Chapter 29

“We could escape,” said Amell softly.

Surana looked up sharply at that and cast her eyes about for templars. But no, they were alone in this corner of the library, the closest templar far out of earshot.

She thought.

Maybe.

She was never sure with templars.

“I… guess we could,” said Surana. “But where would we go?”

“I’d look for my mother, probably,” said Amell. She had dark medium length hair and piercing blue eyes and, Surana thought, was really much too pretty to actually exist. She looked at Surana with those eyes and she blushed instinctively. “Do you remember your family?”

The two of them didn’t talk about their family much. Amell knew that Surana was from an alienage, and that was most of what Surana remembered, honestly, because she’d been hauled away when she was five. She… thought she remembered a woman who might have been her mother, and a man who might have been her father, and a little girl who might have been a sister or a friend. She remembered scary men in armor and a lot of fire. “Not really,” she said finally.

Amell looked at her with some concern in those sharp eyes, but only for a moment before deciding. “You’ll come with me, then,” she said.

“But I’m an elf,” said Surana.

“So? I’ll fight anyone who wants to do anything about it.” It came out louder than Amell wanted it to, and both of them glanced around nervously– never quite safe, never quite alone, always, always on the lookout.

But no one noticed them and all the other students were far away and Amell reached down and laced Surana’s fingers through hers. It gave both of them a thrill every time they held hands, because they each knew what what the stakes were. They knew exactly what could happen when the templars discovered an illicit romance.

“Well,” said Amell, “We’re both smart. We’ll figure something out.” She smiled at Surana, and it warmed her heart. “We will.”


End file.
